


Assembling Love

by windchijmes



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Feelings, Kissing and more kissing, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-04 00:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windchijmes/pseuds/windchijmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Right from their first screen test,  Aidan and Dean hit it off. In fact, they get along so well they've become friends who happen to have great sex together. Except now even great sex isn't enough anymore, and they both want more. But they can't just say it, so they simmer and fester. Aidan's frankly going insane and Dean's just about had it. In the confrontation, Aidan has an unexpected confession involving Dean and IKEA.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Assembling Love

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The characters herein are based on real people, but the words and events are completely fictional. They are not intended to be mistaken for fact and no libel is intended.**  
> 
> Fill for this prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/6124.html?thread=20259564#t20259564

If you ask him now, he doesn’t remember it exactly. How they started, that is.

The attraction was there right from the beginning. That screen test they first did as Kili and New Fili just…made sense. The chemistry was there, their personalities matched and things fell in place like scattered jigsaw pieces finally fitting where they should. Small, casual touches at first. A hand on the shoulder, then hands around waists, hands smacking each other upside the head, legs tangled up on the couch. Heads on each other’s laps probably crossed that first line. First time, it was Aidan who did it. He fell asleep, just like that, right on Dean’s thigh. Dean wore jeans that night, because Aidan recalled himself sleepily irritated by the rough material and wishing it was bare skin instead. Subsequent times, it was Dean’s head that lolled drunkenly into Aidan’s neck – and stayed there until it was time to go on set the next day.

Who made the first move to kiss – Aidan just cannot remember. It was raining or something, and they were laughing and yowling like kids as they ran to Aidan’s trailer, pelted by rain the whole way. And by the time they fell in through the doorway and the door thudded shut, Aidan was backed up right into the door and Dean was in his face. In his mouth. Aidan’s hands curled around Dean’s collar to crush their mouths closer, and Jesus, was the kiss something else.

Aidan discovered that Dean liked to be kissed. Not that Aidan had anything against it but he was affectionate with his whole body. He could spend a day with his limbs wrapped around whoever he was with – which was Dean and had been Dean for a while – and he’d be happy. But it was kisses that Dean really enjoyed, turning his face up for Aidan’s lips to graze his forehead, his nose, then down to a dimple which funnily always drew a sort of chuckle from Dean, and to his lips, usually followed by the wet slick of tongue.

From there, it became a clumsy transition to groping. Lots of it, and nearly always at inappropriate moments. See, they were so often in costume, which meant layers of materials and the added bulk of weaponry. And there were always people around, they were hardly ever alone. But they figured it out. It became a challenge of sorts. How to time their breaks, how to manoeuvre their hands through the layers, and eventually, how to stroke each other _just right_ to a blinding climax that had them gasping against each other.

It was when they started having sex, that Dean thought they should come to a sort of agreement.

But wait, the _sex_.

Yeah, that. Now Aidan never ran into a shortage of willing bodies. He was aware of his own appearance but he never dwelled on it. He just liked it more when he was aesthetically pleasing _for_ his partners. It showed up in the way Dean ran his hands appreciatively over the planes of his chest, or how Dean’s lips lingered over his thighs.

 _You’re very handsome_ , Dean blurted out once at the weirdest moment, right after an insane round of fucking. He’d said it in that way of his, entirely understated. Then he turned his face and Aidan realised with wicked glee that he was _blushing_. Of course, Aidan went right ahead and made Dean’s blush worse by informing him, with a very serious face, that he found Dean delicious too. He wasn’t making it up, in any case. Physically, Dean checked all the right boxes. Small, compact frame, eyes that seem to twinkle all the time and a sunny, dimpled smile that is matched only by his equally warm personality. Ah yeah, and a tight arse, which Aidan found out later on and very much approved of.

So yeah, the sex was definitely good. The kind of good that started a little awkward as they tested waters in bed. How much force when using teeth, where their fingers and cocks should go and how. Aidan liked it either way, as long as there was fucking involved. Dean had a particular knack for topping from bottom, and he gave as good as he got. And once they’ve worked out the technical stuff, the good got explosively _great_.

 _What is this?_ Dean asked one night while they were kissing and groping and just about to rip each other’s clothes off. Aidan was starting to think his current partner had an almost sadistic sense of crappy timing _. What’s what?_ Aidan probably replied; he was figuring out how to get rid of their shirts in the fastest time possible. _Are we, what are we, friends with benefits?_ Dean had said.

Aidan balked and Dean just rolled onto his back, laughing. That put all sexy thoughts on hold, really. Aidan got into a good thinking moment about Dean’s question, because, honestly, what _were_ they?

 _We’re friends_ , Aidan began slowly, not knowing where the discussion was leading to and starting to get that twinge in his belly when he was uncertain. He hated being uncertain.

 _Who fuck_ , Dean finished for him.

 _Who are not called fuck buddies_ , Aidan added solemnly a second later. He’d _never_ come to terms with that phrase either.

He remembered there was a look in Dean’s eyes that he could not read at that time. Dean was grinning as usual, but something – that something in his gaze. _Okay_ , he said, closing his eyes and leaning over to kiss Aidan.

And that was that.

++++++++++

So, having gone through the above psycho-analysis of their situation, what’s wrong with him _still_?

Aidan’s having one of his bouts of self-dissection. It hits him like a fucking freight train from time to time. He gets out of bed and bam, everything feels wrong. He’s not reading his lines right, he ruins take after take, and he feels the weight of everyone’s eyes on him. And he has to dig, really dig deep into all his reserves of goodwill to talk himself out of it. It’s gotten better since Dean’s come into his life. Somehow Dean knows and places himself within easy distance if Aidan runs low on optimism. Dean, the ever-ready rechargeable battery.

But not today.

Today Aidan’s spent the better part of the afternoon recalling everything that made him smile in the many months that have passed, and it’s not enough. Dean’s realised that his mood isn’t right soon enough and he’s been carefully _hovering_ around him.

Every time Aidan whinges to one of the others about something, Dean’ll glance his way just to check that he’s all right. If Aidan laughs, Dean looks relieved. It’s like having your mother on set. Aidan is both annoyed and pleased about it. It’s childish really, but he’ll do something just to get a reaction out of Dean because he can.

Eventually, Dean comes over to him in all his Fili gear. “You feeling better?” he says in a low voice, his gaze half-hidden in his hair as though he’s wary of others detecting anything between them. Always _cautious_ , Dean.

Somehow that irks Aidan. Now he’s childish and being entirely ridiculous, but the tiredness is seeping into his every vein and he’s done pretending. “No,” he says flatly, and it’s a non-victory when Dean stares at him in confusion.

“Are you sick or something?” Dean continues as if Aidan hasn’t just bitten his head off.

“Just – tired,” Aidan grits out, fingernails digging into palms to stop himself from saying things to _hurt_.

Dean’s eyes soften and he reaches for Aidan. It’s like wading in treacle, the way Aidan sees it happen in slow motion. Dean’s fingers almost touching his face, then the blonde goes rigid and he recoils abruptly with the air of a child caught doing something wrong.

“Maybe we can Xbox later, if you’re feeling up to it, eh?” Dean grins, stepping away. “Got to go. Andy’s calling for me. I’ll let him know you’re taking another five.”

Aidan watches him leave without another word, frustration surging dangerously close to the surface. Why didn’t Dean finish doing what he wanted to do just now?

_We’re friends._

Right. Aidan said that himself months ago. He was the one who drew that boundary.

 _Fuck me_. He doesn’t want to _Xbox_. He wants to curl into as small as possible a ball and go to sleep in Dean’s arms. He wants Dean to tell him a joke and see Dean laugh and ignore the fact that one really shouldn’t be laughing at the joke one’s telling.

The epiphany that strikes him then has Dean’s shitty timing. That _look_ in Dean’s eyes when Aidan spelled out their relationship had been regret.

And Aidan’s in love.

++++++++++

When Aidan eventually emerges from his shroud of gloom after a good _fifteen_ minutes, Dean is ready to scream. Naturally, what actually does come out of his mouth is just a muttered _there you are_. Their colleagues – who are more friends than colleagues, but they’re filming now – have been patient enough, implicitly understanding the moment more of self-balancing that actors just _need_ from time to time. Even then, they’ve been giving Dean _looks_.

Being cast as Fili and Kili means that Dean and Aidan are nearly always lumped together for everything. Meals, makeup, side-by-side trailers. Dean’s starting to think that them ending up in each other’s pants may be a feat of human engineering, rather than divine intervention. If Dean messes up, Aidan’s there to shoulder the responsibility with him. If Aidan spends slightly too-long a time taking his break, Dean has to explain why.

Except this time, he doesn’t actually know why, but he thinks it’s something to do with him. Aidan’s black mood is normally self-directed, never aimed at anyone else. Lately, it’s been especially barbed and Dean’s always caught in its crosshairs.

They’re only friends who fuck but are not fuck buddies, right? Why then does Dean still feel the compulsion to _care_? Or to get drunk in the middle of the day and he’s not even Irish, for fuck’s sake.

Aidan stands next to him now, ready for the scene. His face is set in grim determination and his jaw is clenched. He is, for all purposes, _intense_ , and Dean has to tear his eyes away before he starts remembering that that is how Aidan looks in the throes of passion. That is how Aidan looks at _him_ when he thinks Dean doesn’t notice.

The shooting goes into motion and it’s one of those mass mess scenes. They are supposed to be disorientated and trying to find their bearings and talking in the background.

“What’s happening, Fili?”

“I don’t know. Is everyone safe?”

“The Wargs are – we need to talk.”

Dean keeps his face set in a frown because that is exactly what he’s feeling. “About what?” he hisses, and hopes that no one else is listening in on their conversation because if they’re called out on it, Dean swears he’ll kill Aidan until he’s _dead_.

“I don’t know – I just want to talk!” Aidan is growling, and how does a grown man of Aidan’s height and frame sound like a kid who wants his candy fix?

“ _Later_.”

“’Kay, Dean.”

“My name’s Fili.”

“Ah. Yeah.”

“And reset!” Andy Serkis’ voice rings out across the set.

The rolling resets continue for _hours_. And with each one, Aidan says something that manages to fray Dean’s nerves just that bit more. Even if it’s a line that is actually in-character, Dean wants to roll his eyes and throw props. It’s getting to him, Dean realises with some astonishment. The Aidan Effect is under his skin now. Not only does he have to contend with so many people who flock to Aidan, effortlessly drawn in by his charm, he’s now managed to get himself _Aidan-ed_. Aidan’s a noun, the last time he checked. But being with Aidan makes him want to do things – pet his curls, touch his face, kiss him out of his ludicrous sulking.

Fuck.

“And cut!” comes the much-welcomed call.

Dean is immensely thankful. He’s sure if he stays a minute longer, his composure, or what’s left of it, is going to snap right in front of the entire company of cast and crew. Next to him, Aidan sighs in relief. Dean wants to turn to him and grin, the way they always do after a long day of shooting. But they are both silent as they shed their costumes and head to Makeup to get rid of the wigs and prosthetics.

Dean takes a little longer and when he steps out, Aidan’s waiting for him. It feels awkward and uncomfortable, and Dean realises with a pang he’s never felt that way with Aidan. Not even the first time they met. Now he doesn’t know _what_ to do that’s right and won’t cross another line that they would regret.

Aidan decides for them. He seizes Dean’s wrist and the older man finds himself _hauled_ along after Aidan like he’s a bloody sack of potatoes.

“We’re watching one of Dean’s shows!” Aidan says to Adam as they pass him by. Aidan’s eerily cheery and Adam just nods and waves without missing a beat. Dean has a random thought about how appalling that excuse is because they’ve never watched each other’s shows together before.

Without breaking stride, they reach Aidan’s trailer and Dean is practically flung into it. By the time he’s righted himself, he’s _livid_.

“The fuck was that about?” Dean snaps. His back is propped against the table and Aidan has his back to the door, looking like a cornered wild creature. And looking so young, it makes Dean feel a little old.

Maybe this is it, Dean realises. He’s had his apprehension. All right, he’s been in a _world_ of doubt about this whole thing. The fact that they’re colleagues, the actual geographical distance between them should it stretch longer than strictly necessary, Aidan being younger and more impulsive, Dean thinking that perhaps he really should be thinking of settling down, oh God. Wanting _more_ than just fucking. The sex has been great and now it isn’t enough anymore. Perhaps the time has come to just end it already.

“Dean,” Aidan says, sounding exhausted. He’s rubbing his face in that way he does when he’s frustrated or sleepy. Or out of ideas. When he looks at Dean again, his smile is shaky and he _is_ achingly beautiful.

Dean should say it for the both of them and just put himself out of his misery. After all, he’s the one who first kissed Aidan and let things spiral out of control. He had agreed to Aidan’s definition, _knowing_ he couldn’t keep up his end of it and be contented with just being _friends_. He’d been in too deep the moment he set eyes on Aidan Turner. He’d never wanted to care this much and just look at the mess now. Just _look_ at the mess.

“What the hell do you want from me, Aidan?” comes out of Dean’s mouth instead. If Aidan wants to end it, he wants to hear it. He’s masochistic that way. He sees Aidan inhale slowly, and his own chest constricts.

“I want to us to IKEA together,” Aidan says in a single, rushed breath. Then, as if realising just what he’s said, he spits out _oh shit_ in the next breath.

Dean’s listening, he really is. “You want to buy furniture?” he barks out. _And IKEA’s not a fucking verb_ , his mind points out hysterically.

“No!” Aidan snarls, then shakes his head, raking a hand through his unruly curls. “I mean, yes, I want to buy furniture. With you.” The same hand starts to gesture in mid-air. “Those fucking _incomplete tables_ – God – and assembling them.” He looks a little mortified at his own admission, then sighs and turns his head, fixing his eyes on an invisible point on the far wall.

Dean blinks. The world around him actually seems a bit brighter now. And he’s watching Aidan Turner squirm on his feet while professing his love.

“It’s bloody stupid, buying furniture that comes in pieces,” Aidan continues, and now he’s starting to chew on his fingers. “But if I’m assembling it with you…not so stupid. You’re better at it. We can, I don’t know, pick out curtains while we’re at it.”

At this point, Dean does the worst thing he can possibly do. He laughs. “That is the most ridiculous confession I’ve ever heard in my life,” he also blurts like an idiot.

“Oi, I’m pouring my heart out here,” Aidan protests but his lips are twitching. He’s never been good at trying _not_ to smile.

Dean huffs and lifts himself up onto the table. He doesn’t have as many hangups about his height as most people like to think, but it works against him sometimes. Then he opens his arms and legs and tells Aidan to _shut up and get over here_.

Aidan bounds over to him like a gangly puppy and wraps overly-long arms all around Dean. There’s a pause, a beat of silence that is both of them not quite believing they’ve gotten this far and that they’ll get further, then they’re _kissing_. It’s breathlessly familiar, lips and tongues mapping every fold that they’ve done so countless times already. Yet the emotion is strange to them. Now it isn’t just desire. It’s owning and it’s touching what you realise now _is_ yours.

When they finally pull apart to breathe, Dean’s leaning back on his hands and Aidan’s sprawled over him, face buried in Dean’s neck. Long fingers are tugging idly at the buttons of Dean’s shirt, and Dean is pressing his lips against Aidan’s head, inhaling the clean, masculine scent of the man himself. It’s comfortable, like this. It feels right and safe.

Dean takes a moment to compose himself. “Well uh…” he feels Aidan tensing and he takes the younger man’s hand in his own, squeezing it. “We’ve got a break coming up. One of those week-days, maybe.” He clears his throat. “IKEA won’t be so packed.”

Aidan’s grinning against his skin now. The Irish man lifts his head and Dean thinks his smile is dizzyingly bright.

++++++++++

Dean’s entirely wrong, of course. IKEA is _always_ crowded. People are drawn to these lego-furniture like they’re possessed. Credit to Aidan that he’s taking it all very calmly, not muttering even once as they meander slowly through the human masses. In fact, it’s Dean who comes scarily close to whining about going home.

They get just two items for starters. A bigger couch for Dean’s living room, and a little drawer for Aidan’s trailer that really is for Dean’s clothes when he can’t be bothered to lug them back to his own trailer. No curtains, no. Not those yet.

It’s going pretty well too, the assembly of the drawer. Until Aidan picks up the allen key and dangles it from his fingers. “The IKEA magic key,” he intones in his best wizard voice.

“Hmmm…” Dean responses, not looking up from the instruction manual. “Yeah…drives the bolts into all holes,” he continues, humouring Aidan. He knows by now if Aidan wants attention, it’s best to just give it before Aidan gets it into his brain to fight for it.

“Not _all_ holes.”

Dean looks up, then, incredulous. Sexual innuendo in the middle of assembling furniture, _really_? Aidan waggles his brows and begins crawling over to him, carefully avoiding the bits of wood and metal scattered on the floor.

“Aid,” Dean warns, backpedalling a bit. He’d be damned if he leaves furniture unfinished. Aidan’s circling him now, and it’ll have looked so hilarious, if not for the way his eyes are blazing with undisguised desire.

Dean’s mouth goes very dry. “Ai – Aidan, come on – ” is as far as he gets before Aidan pounces and Dean is knocked onto his back, all breath forced from his chest. Then Aidan’s managed to get their pants open and his hand is so very warm when it grasps Dean and _strokes_.

Aidan laughs, an open, sweet sound, and all Dean wants to feel is him. Their pants are hastily kicked aside, Dean’s legs wrapping around Aidan’s waist and dragging him down, both men groaning at the hard, heated slide of flesh. Their movements are hurried, almost frenzied, hips bucking against each other on the floor of Dean’s living room.

Then Aidan’s teeth are at his neck, Dean’s fingers grip wells into Aidan’s shoulders, and it feels so good, _impossibly good_ , they stop thinking altogether.

++++++++++

It’s nearing the end of the break when the couch is standing at the right spot at the correct angle from the telly (agreed upon by both of them), filled with enough cushions (not entirely to Aidan’s agreement, but he’ll live with it), and they’re lounging on it with Dean draped over Aidan and Dean actually complaining that Aidan’s chest is too hard. _It’s muscle, babe_ , Aidan drawls, ignoring the scoff he gets for his efforts.

Then _that scene_ flickers across the screen and Dean’s head snaps up, all drowsiness forgotten. “You copied your own character’s line?” he fairly hollers at the telly.

Aidan shrugs as he watches John Mitchell bitching about IKEA. “I borrowed it,” he corrects self-righteously. “Besides, it’s not like you haven’t borrowed from Anders in some way.”

“You watched The Almighty Johnsons. You’re serious?”

“Yeah!”

“You did.”

“Eh, yeah, the first episode when you appeared. You know, wearing nothing.”

Dean just eyes him like he’s full of shit, which he probably is sometimes, then he starts laughing. It’s that kind of laugh. The one that is entirely too loud and makes Dean throw his head back as he is wracked by guffaws. It’s also the one that compels Aidan to laugh along because he can’t help himself.

It takes them quite a while before they stop giggling like a bunch of schoolgirls.

“Hey, Dean,” Aidan says suddenly in the silence that ensues. That thought isn’t planned; it just cartwheels through his mind and comes out of his fucking mouth. He’s peering up at Dean smiling down at him with that _look_ in his eyes; the same one he had when Aidan confessed to him. And the words are _ther_ e on Aidan’s tongue but the timing is not yet right. “I – ”

Dean’s fingers are over his mouth, gentle and loving. “I know,” he leans down and kisses Aidan. “ _I know_.”

Aidan reaches up and brings their mouths together, again, just because. Then another one, for love.

 

 

_finis_

* * *

_  
_

**Author's Note:**

> *is nervous* I've never written RPF in my life, though I've read plenty. But Aidan and Dean just look great together. Besides, it's a fun prompt and hey, IKEA. I love IKEA.


End file.
